The letter

The way Liz Seccuro saw fit to handle William Beebe’s apology for allegedly raping her in 1984 was probably not what he had in mind.

Liz Seccuro: I was in my office.  It was just an ordinary day.  And I just picked up the phone.  Didn’t share it with family.  There was no plan.  Just thought, “What the hell?  Maybe they can help me. 

“They” are the Charlottesville police.  Now December 2005, Liz was calling them to report a crime that had taken place 21 years earlier.

Without knowing where it would lead, Liz left a message for the police chief.

Seccuro: I’m like—“I was raped in 1984.  And the rapist just sent me a letter.  And we’ve been e-mailing.  And he admits to the crime.  And I don’t think you have jurisdiction over—“ I was just babbling.  I’m like, that man is never gonna call me back.  Sure enough, he called.

Tim Longo, police chief, Charlottesville: What else would I do other than to take her seriously and we did.

Tim Longo has been the chief of police chief in  Charlottesville for the past 5 years.

Edie Magnus, Dateline correspondent: What made you believe her?

Longo: Her sense of urgency and sincerity.  And also a sense that, “Hey, something wrong has happened to me—and nobody seems to wanna help.”

Chief Longo asked Liz to come in to file a complaint - which she promptly did.

Longo: There’s no statute of limitations on any felony in the Commonwealth of Virginia.

Magnus: Including rape.

Longo: Including rape and rape is a felony crime.

Magnus: So you can investigate this no matter how many years after the fact.

Longo: That’s correct.

Seccuro: He said, “I’m gonna assign two detectives to you.  You’re gonna be hearing from them tomorrow.” And he goes, “You’re very brave to come forward and do this.”  And didn’t really know what “this” was.  I guess the implication that I was gonna be pressing charges, like really hadn’t wrapped my brain around that.  But if I was gonna do this, I’m gonna do this to the end.

The detectives took Liz around the UVA campus and, says the chief, were impressed by her recall of what had happened.  But the investigation hit some roadblocks:  there was no record attesting to Liz’s trip to the hospital emergency room.   And the student health center where she’d been examined destroys its records after 10 years.  And the report she filed with the campus police had somehow disappeared.  Chief Longo says there’s no evidence anything came of it anyway. 

Longo: I’m not aware of any police investigation that was conducted at that time.

Detectives did unearth one report which corroborates part of her story.  Undertaken for the dean of students, it was kept under seal all these years.  Liz herself received a copy only recently.  Three witnesses from the frat party that night offered some disturbing accounts of the horror she’d endured:  one told of seeing a young man, presumably Beebe with “blood on the thigh of his jeans.”  The same witness also spoke of seeing a sleeping woman, presumably Liz, “partially exposed” and “bleeding in the vaginal area.”  Another witness said  there “may have been drugs” in that green mystery drink that Liz said made her feel all rubbery. 

Longo: There was at least some documentation that memorialized that this incident occurred or that it was reported to have occurred.

And of course, detectives had the letter Beebe had sent Liz and the e-mails that followed.

Longo: They make pretty clear that, you know, something happened which I’m apologetic for.

In January 2006, four weeks after Liz filed a report with the Charlottesville police, Chief Longo placed a call to the Las Vegas police.  They then arrested  William Beebe, now a real estate agent there.  And Liz Seccuro’s private nightmare suddenly became a very public drama.

Her story was big news in Virginia. And then it went national—appearing in People magazine, provoking many questions about her unrelenting anger and her unwillingness to put the past behind her.

Magnus: Why not give him a break?

Seccuro: What for? So it’s not a crime if you apologize for it? People try and get me to say, “Oh, yeah, I feel badly for him.”  No, I don’t.

Magnus: Did it make any difference to you at all that he was telling you that he was an alcoholic?

Seccuro: Doesn’t make it right.  “Oh, I was a drunk.  Therefore, I raped you.” What am I supposed to say?  “I’m sorry for the pain and suffering that you’ve suffered as an addict”?  What about the pain and suffering you caused me? I mean, in my heart of hearts, I have forgiven him for what he did to me.

Magnus: But you still want to see him be made to pay for it?

Seccuro: Absolutely.  It’s about him paying his debt to society and to me.  It’s about me moving on with my life.

Elizabeth Ludwig read about Liz’s life in People—and says she was flooded with memories and regrets.  She’s the former dorm mate, remember, who in 1984 was skeptical of Liz’s rape charge. 

Elizabeth Ludwig, former dorm mate: Reading her story and seeing her face, I wish I could have been able to say, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you 100% when you came forward at the very start.

And in Las Vegas, another woman found herself having second thoughts about someone she knew only a little.

Lyna Reyes, Beebe's officemate: He struck me as a  courteous man and very personable and professional.

Lyna Reyes is a receptionist at the real estate firm where Beebe worked for a few months as an agent.  She was stunned to hear he’d been arrested.

Reyes: I didn’t believe that he was capable of that.  In retrospect, I could see where the times I would get to speak with him you could almost see that haunted look in his eyes like he had a past, you know, like something that was bothering him.

Liz told us she expects there will be a lot of sympathy for William Beebe, and she dreads the prospect of entering the adversarial arena of the courtroom—where her memories will be dissected and her motives questioned—and where she’ll have to confront Beebe. 

Seccuro: The first time I will get a really good look at him is when I look at him in court, you know?  I mean, this is an utter stranger to me.

That would happen sooner rather than later.  21 years after that night at the frat house, Liz and the man she accuses of destroying her life would come face to face in a  Charlottesville courthouse.

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